


Home Again

by redredred



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Bonding, Declarations Of Love, Domestic, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Spoilers for MAG 160
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:55:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22088260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redredred/pseuds/redredred
Summary: Peter is gone, and Jon and Martin escaped from The Lonely unscathed. But the image of Martin blurred at the edges is burned into Jon's mind, his very existence looking as though it would disappear in a wisp of smoke. The toll of Martin's isolation show plainly on his face, even with his best attempts to hide it. But even as they arrive in Scotland with space between them heavy with unspoken words, a different connection is forged between them, and new feelings bloom.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 24
Kudos: 218





	Home Again

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Clumsy Chicken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClumsyChicken/pseuds/ClumsyChicken) for the excellent beta!

“I… I was on my own. I was all on my own.”

Tears roll down Martin’s cheek as he chokes out the words. Jon’s breath stills. He reaches out, brushing a thumb over Martin’s cheek. Martin looks up, his eyes wide, then slowly leans into the touch.

“Not anymore,” Jon says, and gently lifts Martin’s face up to meet his gaze. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

Martin’s expression is still shadowed with doubt, but he reaches up and covers Jon’s hand with his.

“How?”

Jon reaches out and pulls Martin to his chest, a soft smile on his lips.

“Don’t worry. I know the way.”

The tension in Martin’s shoulders eases. He nods, managing a weak smile of his own.

Keeping a tight grip on Martin, Jon guides them out of The Lonely. The dull grey that was staining Martin seeps out of him with each step. Jon can’t shake the vision of his form faded around the edges, looking as though he’d disappear at any moment. But the warmth of Martin’s hand in his helps soothe his worry. He’ll bring him home.

“Thank you.” Hearing Martin’s whisper, Jon turns to face him. The dark circles under Martin’s eyes are pronounced and tears still stain his cheeks, but he smiles and squeezes Jon’s hand. Jon’s tension further eases at that. He runs a thumb over the back of Martin’s hand.

For right now, at least, they’re going to be alright.

* * *

Staggering though the safe house door, Martin finds his way to the bedroom and immediately flops onto the bed. Jon stays back and strolls through the living room. It's sparse, but it will be adequate for the two of them. He hears Martin let out a long groan. “I’ve been needing a holiday, but this isn’t exactly what I had planned,” Martin calls out.

Jon laughs dryly. He heads to the bedroom, following after Martin. “That was optimistic of you.”

Martin divests himself of his glasses and buries his face into a pillow. “I know,” he says, voice muffled. “It was a pipe dream more than anything.”

Jon sets his bag down on the floor. The downstairs story seems to only have a living room, kitchen, and the single bedroom—with a solitary bed. He isn't very concerned at the moment about finding out if there's another.

“Yes, well. We can enjoy it while it lasts, at least,” Jon says. “It seems—peaceful.”

Martin sighs. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Could do with some of that. After—after these past few months.”

Jon’s gaze rests on Martin, who shifts onto his side. Their eyes meet, and a silence falls between them – one that hangs heavy in the air. Martin opens his mouth as if to speak, but then drops his gaze and clears his throat. “You know those really fluffy cows in this area?”

Jon blinks, then nods. “Er. Highland cows, yes.”

There's the barest hint of a smile on Martin's lips. “I hope we get to see some soon.”

“Good to see your priorities are in order,” Jon says with a snort.

“Oh, come on,” Martin says, his smile growing wider. “You know you want to see them too.”

Jon chuckles and shakes his head. “I can't argue with that, I suppose.”

Martin hums, a satisfied grin on his face, and sinks his head back into the pillow.

Noting the lack of wardrobes in the bedroom, Jon settles for placing his clothes in a cabinet.

With a sigh, Martin begins to slide out of bed. “I should probably unpack, too.”

Jon waves a hand, gesturing for Martin to get back into bed. “That's hardly something you need to worry about right now. Go ahead and get some rest, alright?”

It doesn't take more persuading for Martin to sink back into bed. He pulls the comforter over him, looking as comfortable as can be. He smiles warmly, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and Jon's heart skips a beat at the sight. “Thank you, Jon.”

“No need to thank me,” he says, but he feels heat creeping up his neck.

The whole time he unpacks, he feels Martin's gaze on him. The sensation isn't unpleasant. As he turns back to the bed, he does indeed find Martin's eyes fixed on him. A flush creeps over Martin's cheeks, and he averts his eyes.

“S-sorry,” he mumbles. “It's just—I've hardly seen you for so long, and...” He looks back up at Jon, brow furrowed. “Part of me still doesn't think this can be real.”

Jon's breath catches in his throat. He steps closer to the bed, then gestures to the empty space in front of Martin. “Might I sit down?”

“Sure.” Martin scoffs softly. “And it's your bed now too, you know.”

Jon blinks. “You’re—right. Yes.” He gingerly sits down, careful to keep his weight off of Martin. He puts his hand down on the mattress, meeting Martin's gaze.

“I'm here,” he says, voice steady. “I promise you, I'm here.”

Martin looks up at him, lips parted. He slowly reaches out his hand until his palm rests on top of Jon's. Lacing their fingers together, he laughs softly, then sniffles. “I might need more reminders,” he whispers. His voice is thick with tears.

With a soft smile, Jon squeezes Martin's hand. “I'll give you as many as you need.”

Martin nods, and he wipes at the corners of his eyes. They stay there, hands clasped together, until Martin's eyes slip shut and his breathing evens out as he falls asleep.

Martin's grip on his hand loosens, but Jon sits and watches him sleep until the last vestiges of daylight are gone from the sky. Even then, it's with reluctance that he gets up, and heads into the living room. On the way he checks upstairs, and, as he thought, there's little more than a couple of sparsely furnished rooms. Going back downstairs, he settles down on the couch with a book.

Though he tries to read, his eyes slide off the page, unable to keep his thoughts from straying to Martin. He's brought him home, yes, but there's still so much left unsaid between them—so much left from the months spent apart. It's with these thoughts churning in his mind that he drifts into a fitful sleep, the book still resting on his chest.

Jon awakens to the sound of a kettle. As he rises, the book slides onto the floor.

Martin turns at the sound and covers his mouth as he chuckles. “Sorry for waking you.” As he yawns, he stretches an arm over his head, his shirt lifting up to reveal a trail of hair on his soft belly. Jon swallows hard.

“I was getting it ready to make some tea, but, well,” he gestures to the kettle, “we don't actually have any.”

Jon puts his glasses on and gets up from the couch. “Yes, we don't have much of anything here, do we?” Pausing, he wrinkles his nose. “Nothing that would still be edible after years of sitting in the cupboards, anyway.”

“Guess not,” Martin mutters. Jon searches his face—he still has dark circles under his eyes, but his expression is more relaxed and the telltale furrow of his brow that Jon had been accustomed to seeing these past months is gone. For now, at least.

Catching his gaze, Martin chuckles nervously. “Is—is there something on my face?” he asks, patting at his cheek.

Jon clears his throat and looks away. Heat creeps up his neck. “I—er—no, sorry,” he says with a wave of his hand. “Were you—able to sleep well, at least?”

At that, Martin smiles and nods. “Yeah. First time in a while, really.”

“That's—that's good,” Jon says.

“You could have come to bed, you know,” Martin says, crossing his arms over his chest.

Jon shrugs halfheartedly. “I didn't want to disturb you.”

“Well,” Martin says, still eyeing Jon with scrutiny, “just don't make a habit of it, alright? You don't get enough sleep as it is.”

“I'll take it under advisement,” Jon says, deadpan, and he laughs as Martin swats at him.

“We'll go out for supplies, then?” Jon says as he nods to the door.

“Yeah,” Martin says. “Just need to get a few things, first.”

Dressing up, they head down to the village and before they do anything else, check in with Basira. As time passes without coming across a certain pair of hunters, or any sign of the Not-Sasha, their worry eases. Their pace is unhurried as they explore and shop, though they still stay on alert for any anyone—or thing—that could warrant suspicion. The atmosphere between them is relaxed and familiar. Martin, especially, enjoys watching the scenery as they walk. The sky that day is particularly clear, the cool air crisp and fresh. Green hills and fields surround them for miles. Though Jon can admit the landscape is beautiful, he finds his gaze drawn more to Martin. And, to their delight, they do pass some cows on the way.

“Oh, they're so fluffy,” Martin says, standing on his toes to get a better look. He waves at one that looks in their direction and practically squeals. “I wish I could pet it.”

Jon isn't sure which is more endearing—the decidedly, yes, fluffy cows, or Martin as he coos over them.

Actually, no, it's definitely Martin.

Martin is in higher spirits than Jon has seen him in—well, in too long. Warmth spreads through his chest at the sight of the excited smile on his lips. Despite the circumstances, he's glad to be here, with Martin by his side.

They only hurry their pace as Martin's stomach starts rumbling with hunger. They make it back to the house breathing heavily, their faces flushed with exertion.

Despite his hunger, Martin sits Jon down at the dining table with a cup of tea.

“Are you sure I can't help, at least?” Jon asks for the fifth time in as many minutes. Martin turns to him and sighs, pointing a spatula at him.

“When's the last time you had breakfast that wasn't a piece of toast?” he asks, then shakes his head. “When's the last time you had breakfast, period?”

Jon scoffs, but finds he doesn't actually have a comeback. “I could—you know,” he says and taps on his forehead.

“Knowing is different than doing.” He flips an egg over, deftly keeping the yolk intact. “Now let me focus on this before I end up burning something.” He shakes his head. “Stubborn,” he mutters under his breath. Jon catches a glimpse of his smile before he turns back to the stove.

Jon sips leisurely at his tea as he watches Martin cook. His movements are practiced, and the mix of savory and sweet scents that fill the kitchen are enough to make even Jon feel hungry… even if he finds he doesn't have much of an appetite, anymore. Not for food, anyway.

“I didn't know you could cook so well,” Jon says.

Martin shrugs. “I had to learn, to be able to take care of Mum.”

“Ah,” Jon says. “It smells delicious.”

Martin looks over his shoulder with a smile. Jon wonders when he's going to get used to that sight making his heart skip a beat.

Piling the plates with French toast and eggs, Martin sets one down in front of Jon before sitting down with his own. His eyes light up when Jon finishes even half of his plate.

* * *

The days pass in blissful peace and quiet. Even the underlying worry drains away as time goes by without any incident. The gap that had grown between them after months of being apart is gradually narrowed as they refamiliarize themselves. Martin often comes to Jon, seeking solace and reassurance that he isn't alone, which Jon is more than happy to give.

Touch between them becomes familiar, growing easy and natural as the comfort between them grows. Jon keeps his promise and sleeps in their bed more often than not. It's an awkward arrangement, at first, but they ease into it—though Martin has a tendency to hog the comforter. In place of the stifled tension of before, a new tension emerges—one of lingering touches and stolen glances, unspoken words that hang heavy between them. Jon's been putting off acknowledging it. He knows there's still much they need to talk about—need to make clear, and he can only use the excuse of “giving Martin time to adjust” for so long.

But it still manages to surprise him when the time comes.

* * *

It's a relaxed evening after dinner. Jon is in his usual spot on the couch, settled down with a cheap mystery novel. The relatively grisly, but still mundane, absolutely not supernatural murder depicted is almost novel to him, and he guessed the murderer before chewing his way through half the book—without even having to use his powers. But, well, beggars can't be choosers, he supposes. Martin shuffles up to the couch, cup of tea in hand, and flashes Jon a smile as he curls up next to him. This has become something of a routine. It's almost surprising how quickly Martin adjusted from awkwardly approaching Jon to easily settling down by his side.

“How is it?” Martin asks, leaning over Jon's arm.

“It's a book that hasn't tried to kill or disfigure me, so at least a 3 out of 10,” Jon drawls. Martin chuckles. Their sides are pressed together, and warmth emanates from Martin. “But still, it's rather trite.”

“It sounded kind of fun to me. You really are picky,” Martin says and leans over to rest his head on Jon's shoulder.

“I've never denied that,” he says with a snort and carries on reading. Martin stays pressed against Jon, so quiet that Jon wonders if he's fallen asleep. He glances over to find Martin's eyes still open. His brows are furrowed, his lips pressed together, as he stares past the book.

“Are you alright?” Jon asks, setting the book down on the table. Martin's gaze is downcast as he leans away from Jon. He feels the absence of Martin's touch like an ache, but he waits for him to answer. Curling his arms around his legs, Martin rests his chin on his knees. The silence grows heavier with each passing second until Martin speaks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I'm sorry.”

Jon's brows pull together. “What do you mean?”

Martin sighs heavily, still not meeting Jon's gaze.

“For—for everything that happened, after—” He inhales sharply. “I've been meaning to tell you this for so long, but I didn't—I don't want to ruin—this.” As he heaves a sigh, Jon realizes he's holding his breath. “But I need to tell you.” He looks up at Jon. “I thought I had lost you. Everyone was so angry, or grieving—or both.” He shakes his head. “It felt like everything was falling apart.”

Jon watches him intently, letting Martin speak.

“And then Mum died, and Peter said you'd likely never wake up. I tried to salvage what I could, working with him. At least try to keep the others safe.” He gives a half shrug. “That was my justification, anyway. But really, I was just so—numb. All the time. I didn't care, anymore. What happened to me. What happened to much of anything.”

He takes a shaky breath. “And then—you woke up. You woke up, and—and I couldn't even let myself see you.” Sniffling, he rubs unshed tears from his eyes. “I wanted—had to keep you safe. I kept pushing you away, and I knew it had to be that way—I had to keep Peter away from you. But—but I still hurt you, and… I'm so, so sorry.” He takes deep, shuddering breaths, but a weak smile pulls on his lips. He looks up into Jon's eyes.

Quivering, Jon adjusts his glasses. “Martin, I—I know. I know, if you thought you had any better choice—” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I don't blame you for any of it. And I thought, so many times, that I should stop—whatever it was that was going on with Peter. I should have known—I should have known.”

Martin watches him, brow furrowed and lips trembling.

“But I couldn't see into him. And—I trusted you, of course I did, but I saw what it was doing to you. I thought you were going to lose yourself. I thought… I thought I was going to lose you. And I did nothing until it was almost too late.”

He takes a deep, gasping breath, unable to meet Martin's gaze. He feels Martin's hand close around his.

“But you saved me.”

Jon finally looks up. A warm smile adorns Martin's face.

“Of course,” Jon whispers. “I…”

He moves his hand down to Martin's shoulder, and gently pulls him forward. Martin moves along, pliant under his touch. Bringing him to his chest, Jon wraps his arms around his shoulders.

“In the Lonely,” Jon whispers, then pauses, the words heavy on his tongue. “You—said you loved me.”

Martin is stiff for second before nodding against Jon's chest. “Yeah,” he whispers.

Jon remains silent while he searches for the words. “As in—you did? Or—or you still…” He lets the sentence trail off.

Martin looks up, a befuddled expression on his face, and scoffs. “Of—of course I still love you.”

Jon swallows hard and nods, heart hammering in his chest. Grasping Martin's face between his hands and lifts it to meet his gaze. “Martin,” he whispers.

Martin's lips part. His eyes search Jon's face. This close, Jon can see the light dusting of freckles that grace Martin's nose and cheeks, and he traces his thumb along their trail. He huffs out a laugh. “You have no idea how happy I am to hear that.”

Martin's face flushes a deep red, his eyes not leaving Jon's face. He reaches out and grips onto Jon's shirt.

“I had to come for you,” Jon whispers. “I wanted you to be safe, too. I need you to be safe, and here with me.” He takes a deep breath and smiles. “I love you, Martin.”

Martin's breath stalls and his eyes widen. “Say it again,” he says.

With a chuckle, Jon runs a hand through Martin's curls. “I love you.”

A sob escapes Martin's throat and throws his arms around Jon's shoulders. Jon lets out an “oof” of surprise, but quickly returns the gesture. He buries his face in Martin's shoulder, breathing in the scent of him. His eyes slip shut—and everything clicks into place. This, here, with Martin in his arms, is where he wants to be. He runs his hands over Martin's back, and as Martin hums low near his ear, a pleasant jolt shoots down his spine.

Jon pulls away from Martin and takes his face in his hands. He inches closer, until he can feel Martin's breath on his lips.

“I'd very much like to kiss you right now,” Jon whispers. Martin huffs a laugh against his lips, then nods.

Jon leans in and closes the distance. Martin's lips meet his. Martin's eyes slip shut, but Jon can't bring himself to do the same. He takes in the details of Martin's face: how his lashes flutter as he moves his mouth, the freckles high on his cheeks, the dark flush of red on his russet brown skin. While Martin effectively grips onto Jon’s shoulders with his arms, Jon sinks his hands into Martin's curls. Warmth pools in Jon's stomach as their lips move together, slow and exploratory, and Martin hums against Jon's mouth.

Martin's lips part, and Jon feels the tip of his tongue run along his mouth. Martin slips an eye open, and they both widen as he pulls back.

Jon blinks as if in a daze. “Wh—is something wrong?”

Martin shakes his head, hiding a chuckle behind his head. “No, no, it's just, um—were you staring at me?”

Jon opens and closes his mouth. “I—er—maybe?” Heat climbs up his ears. “Is that weird?”

Martin bites his lip as he grins. “Yeah. Just a little bit.” He leans forward and places a quick kiss on his lips. “But I don't mind it,” he whispers against Jon's mouth.

Nodding slowly, Jon is sure he's flushed down to his neck by now. “That's—that good,” he says. “I—I like looking at you.”

Martin inhales sharply and brings a hand around Jon's neck, pulling their lips together. Jon's mouth opens for him and their tongues slide together, drawing noises from Jon's throat.

When Martin pulls back, a thin thread of saliva hangs between their lips. “Is that alright?”

“Yes,” Jon says, his voice breathy. “Very.”

Martin doesn't hesitate in crushing their mouths together again. The force of it sends Jon onto his back. Jon groans as Martin lays on top of him, and Martin draws back, pushing himself up on his arms.

“Oh, God, Jon, I'm so sorry—” Martin starts, but he's interrupted when Jon wraps his arms around his neck and pulls him back down.

“I—I like it, actually,” Jon whispers.

Martin inhales sharply. “Oh.”

“Mmh,” Jon mutters, tugging Martin in for another kiss.

Their mouths move leisurely together. They both end up with their chests heaving, heat pooling between their bodies. Martin rests his head on Jon's chest, and Jon slowly strokes a hand over his back.

Martin takes a deep breath. “That was…”

“Good. Very—very good,” Jon says with an emphatic nod.

Martin giggles. “Yeah.” He squirms and wrests himself from Jon's grip. “I just, er—need to—um—” He bites his lip, and as he gets to his knees, Jon notices the tenting in his pajama pants.

“Oh!” Jon says, clearing his throat. “Er, right, yes, you—you can go on ahead and, um—take care of that.”

“Thanks,” Martin says and quickly scurries off in the direction of the bathroom.

Jon lies back on the couch, still breathing heavily, keenly aware of the absence of Martin's weight on top of him. He runs his fingers over his lips, only now realizing how hard his heart is beating.

Martin returns only a few minutes later, a sheepish look on his face. Jon gestures him over and pats on his chest with a grin. Chuckling, Martin settles back down on top of him with a contented hum. Jon hugs him against his chest.

“Fair warning, I might fall asleep,” Martin mumbles as he buries his face in Jon's neck.

“I don't mind,” Jon says. He already feels the tug of sleep and lets out a long yawn as he shuts his eyes.

Martin giggles, and the sound reverberates pleasantly in Jon's chest. “What's so funny?”

Martin shakes his head, still smiling. “Nothing. I just—I'm happy.” Jon presses a kiss to his cheek. “I thought about this a lot, you know.”

“Oh?” Jon says, brow raised.

“Yeah.”

“And—how do I measure up? To your, er—'imagination Jon'?”

Martin's gaze meets his, and there's such a tenderness in his eyes, it makes Jon's heart clench. “Better than I ever could have thought.”

“Oh,” he says. A pleasant warmth spreads in his stomach.

“Yeah.” Martin nuzzles against Jon's shoulder. His eyes slip shut as Jon runs a hand over his back.

“Goodnight, Martin,” Jon whispers, but he's already asleep. He carefully slips his glasses off his face and sets them down on the table.

This here, hiding out in the unfamiliar Scottish highlands in a sparsely furnished, borrowed house, feels more like home that anywhere else has in years. And it's because, Jon knows, Martin's finally here, in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> I respect Mr. Jonny Sims's decision for Jon's dialogue in 159, and I think their reunion scene is absolutely beautiful…but I'm also a sucker for love declarations, so here we are! I hope you've enjoyed, and thank you for reading! I hope to write a lot more Jon/Martin in the future :)
> 
> You can find me on:  
> tumblr @ simsblackwood (TMA sideblog)  
> twitter @ grantuseyes
> 
> (please.......talk to me about jonmartin.........and just martin too)


End file.
